


Doubts to Rest

by bizzybee



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Crimson Flower, Post-Game, and we're both boys, enough repression to rival the hand clench scene in pride and prejudice (2005), haha just kidding..., or as much of a confession these two can do, unless?, what if you were crying so i offered to give you a haircut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23142850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bizzybee/pseuds/bizzybee
Summary: After the war, Ferdinand has to make a decision. Thankfully, or unthankfully, Hubert is around to help.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 16
Kudos: 278





	Doubts to Rest

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway I unlocked their custom battle dialogue for the first time like two weeks ago during Silver Snow and it absolutely broke my heart. I needed to write fluff to cope. 
> 
> Title is from Cold Cold Man by Saint Motel. 
> 
> Also, I know that pomade wasn't invented until the 20th century; however, for the sake of homoeroticism and Hubert running his hands through Ferdinand's hair, I've made some adjustments, which I think is incredibly valid of me.

Hubert never knows quite how to act in times of peace. 

Of course, the danger towards Lady Edelgard's life will never truly fade, but now that the war has ended, all their years of preparation, all those years of fighting, of torture and assassinations and the knowledge that Edelgard could die at any second, were over. Even the snake eyes of Arundel, always looking over their shoulders, were finally cut off, by none other than Edelgard herself. 

His work is never done, but he feels strange. He feels directionless. Lady Edelgard told him this was a good feeling - the feeling of freedom, but he's not too sure.

His loved ones; however, Edelgard and the other members of the Strike Force, seem happy enough, though. That can be enough for now. 

Hubert is walking down the hallway of their old dormitories, back from retrieving a few tomes he had forgotten to bring to his new quarters, when he hears it. The sounds of crying. Not the joyous tears shed when the word of the Church's surrender reached Garreg Mach, but sorrowful tears. 

They're coming from Ferdinand's old room. The newly appointed Prime Minister doesn't reside there anymore, opting instead to stay on the Third Floor with a few other key members of the former Imperial Army, but the weeping coming from behind the closed door is clearly his. 

Hubert hesitates. If this were five years ago, he would walk away, filing this under yet another reason why Ferdinand was inferior to the Lady (Edelgard, of course, only cries around either nobody, or Hubert). If this were three years ago, he would walk away, choosing to respect Ferdinand's privacy as perhaps not a friend, but certainly an ally. If this were one year ago, he would walk away, but perhaps pick up a new case of Bergamot for his friend next time he was in town. 

Only now, he's not quite sure what to do. As the end of the war had grown closer, so had they. Weekly tea had turned into twice weekly tea, then thrice weekly, then near daily. In weaker moments, Hubert had even let his walls drop a bit, allowing himself to focus only on the present, rather than his and Fódlan's future.

It scares him as much as it excites him. 

He had thought that Ferdinand dropped his walls during those moments, too, but now, with a door and tears between them, Hubert isn't so sure. 

He forms a fist and places it gently on the door, taking a deep breath. Then, eyes closed, he knocks. 

The sniffling immediately stops. Hubert waits for a moment. Silence. 

Should he leave? Maybe Ferdinand doesn't want to be disturbed. Maybe-

He’s turning away when the door opens. 

And there he is. Ferdinand, standing tall despite the tear tracks on his cheeks, lips pursed and eyes red with crying, gaze an unreadable mix of sadness, defiance, and something else. His hair is damp, and the smell of the chamomile shampoo he uses is strong in the air.

Hubert hates that he knows what shampoo Ferdinand wears.

They stand for a moment. Hubert closes his jaw. 

"I-" he starts, then stops. More silence. 

"If you have come here to mock me," Ferdinand says, chin somehow tilting higher as his voice wavers ever so slightly, "Please save yourself the effort, and I the disruption." 

"I-" Hubert swallows, throat dry. He feels blinded, if not in sight, then in feeling. "I wasn't-" 

"Good day, Hubert." Ferdinand says resolutely, taking a step back into his room. "Next time, if you have nothing to say, do not bother-"

"Von Aegir." Hubert surprises even himself when his hand reaches out and he steps into the doorway, planting himself firmly in the way of the closing door. 

Ferdinand looks at him wryly. 

Hubert clears his throat. "I, er. I just wanted to see if you were all right." 

A beat. 

"I am quite alright, von Vestra, so if you'll excuse me-" 

"You were crying." 

That, finally, gives Ferdinand pause. “It is nothing that concerns you, Hubert.” 

“It could be. If it affects your work.”

Ferdinand gives a rather ignoble snort. “Right, my work. I will be sure not to let it bleed into my duties,  _ Minister _ .”

And his voice sounds so hardened, so vehement, so hidden behind walls that Hubert thought he’d gotten past, Hubert has half a mind to let Ferdinand shut the door in his face and disappear. Back to his paperwork, back to the reconstruction effort, back to everything that he believed he’d dedicate his life to for the first 25 years of it. 

Instead, he reaches one gloved hand out, hovering above Ferdinand’s shoulder. “Ferdinand.” 

Ferdinand sighs. He steps back, nodding his head. Hubert steps inside, watching him as he watches the wall, and allows Ferdinand to close the door behind him. 

Ferdinand steps further into the room, not looking at Hubert, hands wringing in front of him. “I suppose, if you must know,” he stands in front of his vanity, absentmindedly sorting the mess there. “It is, and you must swear not to laugh at me, my hair.”

Hubert feels a slight twinge of hurt at the insinuation that he would laugh at Ferdinand for anything, really, but he knows it’s not an unfound accusation. Besides, all he can feel is bewilderment as he makes eye contact with Ferdinand in the vanity mirror. “Your hair?”

“Yes, my hair.” Ferdinand sits heavily on his vanity stool, sighing as he puts his chin in his hands. Still looking at Hubert, he continues, “Is that so bad?”

“No,” Hubert says, quickly, and then swallows, silently curses himself for not thinking before he speaks. The look of relief on Ferdinand’s face; however, overwrites any misgivings he feels, replacing them with a different kind of nervousness. 

Ferdinand looks away, gathering his hair in one hand, looking down at it as he twists it. “It is only, I keep meaning to cut it.”

A moment passes before Hubert realizes Ferdinand is expecting a response. “Ah.” 

Ferdinand laughs sadly. “It is ridiculous.”

Another pause. “Sorry, what is?”

Ferdinand turns in his seat, facing Hubert, and Hubert isn’t at all ready for the intensity in his gaze, no longer buffeted by the mirror, but he can’t seem to look away. 

“People have called me vain, Hubert.” It’s said plainly, without emotion. “And I suppose there is… some truth to that statement. Somehow, though, when it is said about my hair, I always felt vindicated in my hurt, in saying that it is not a fashion statement.” Ferdinand looks back down at his hair. “I merely meant it as a sort of statement to support the war effort. It was not done out of vanity.”

“I know.” 

Ferdinand smiles sadly. “Yes, I told you many times, I am sure you recall.” 

Hubert chuckles.

“It is only, sitting here, now that the war is over, I do not think I wish to cut it anymore.”

Hubert nods.

Ferdinand laughs again, shakily, brushing his own tears away with his fingertips. “It is quite ridiculous, I know, but I fear that my arrogance in telling others off for assuming things about me turned itself into vanity in the end.” 

"Ferdinand," Hubert says in what he hopes is a consoling tone. He steps closer. Ferdinand doesn't look up. 

Hubert knows what he wants to say. It's what he always wants to say, when just the presence of Ferdinand starts to overwhelm him and fog his mind. Make him feel out of control. Loosen his tongue and soften his heart.

It's fucking annoying. 

So, instead, he says. "You don't have to cut your hair." 

Ferdinand groans, placing his head in his hands before looking back up at Hubert. "I want to, though. I simply cannot." 

Ah. 

Hubert doesn't quite know how to solve problems when he can't kill someone. Or torture. Or interrogate. 

But maybe, for Ferdinand, he can try. 

"Maybe, Dorothea-" he tries, but Ferdinand shakes his head. 

"-is already on her way to Brigid. I can not ask her to return for something as silly as this."

"It's not silly." 

"Ah, Hubert, and here I thought you looked at everything without emotion." Before Hubert can protest, Ferdinand continues, "but not to worry, I will not tell a soul." 

When he winks, any protest dies on Hubert's lips. 

And he hates that smug look in Ferdinand's eyes at his silence, and he hates how he's so quickly lost control of this conversation, and he hates that the silence between them is continuing to grow. 

Ferdinand, damn him, turns back to his vanity, gathering the loose papers into a stack and setting them to one side, sorting through the various odds and ends spread across it. It's endearing, Hubert thinks, how much he cares about his appearance, and yet allows such clutter to fill his areas behind the scenes. 

Hubert wishes he could read minds. He wishes he could tell if Ferdinand wants him to say what he's thinking. He wishes this were easier. He wishes he were a person who had wished before, so that he might know how to deal with wishing now.

He wishes.

"I would cut it myself," Ferdinand muses, "But I do not know if I could make it come out even. I would like at least that." 

"I could…" Hubert trails off. As much as he wants to say it, he doesn't want to even more. 

"You could what?" He's looking at Hubert through the mirror again, now, and Hubert wishes he wouldn't.

Hubert turns to watch the wall before saying, "I could… Well, you know. If you wanted."

Ferdinand's silence makes Hubert cringe internally, and all the sudden the room feels much too small, much too full of Ferdinand and those amber eyes. 

"Von Vestra," Ferdinand says, and it's not until Hubert glances at him that he knows Ferdinand's trying to tease. "Are you offering to give me a haircut?" 

Yes, good. Teasing was something Hubert could handle. Much easier than that strange saccharine sincerity Ferdinand was showing just moments ago. 

"And if I am?" he says, lifting his chin. 

"Why, Hubert, judging by the state of your own hair, you cut  _ that _ , so excuse me if I do not believe that your abilities are up to the task of taming mine." 

"Oh, Ferdinand, I thought you liked my hair? You spend so much time staring at the back of my head that I always believed it was admiration for the way it looked." 

Hubert is in his element now, lives in the satisfaction he gets from that pink blush crawling from Ferdinand's cheek to his ears. "Well, I believe you are one to talk about that," he says, and Hubert knows he's won. 

The conversation stalls for a moment as Feridnand opens a drawer, pulling out a pair of cutting shears and a comb. He wipes off the thin layer of dust on his breeches and then turns over one shoulder, beckoning Hubert closer with a tilt of his head. 

"If you are so keen," he smirks, though not rudely, and Hubert can't help his small smile at Ferdinand's accompanying eyeroll.

Hubert moves behind the stool.

He's always prided himself on his ability to read people. Whether in interrogation, battle, or strategy meetings, Hubert can most often tell what people are thinking. 

But when he reaches out and Ferdinand keeps his hold on the shears and comb, his thumb pressing into the hollow of Hubert's bare wrist underneath his tailcoat as Hubert's hand closes over his, Hubert would give anything to know what's going through that frustrating mind.

And then Ferdinand releases his grip, turning back to the front with his bottom lip worried between his teeth, and Hubert wonders if he imagined the hesitation, after all. 

But he knows he's not imagining Ferdinand's gaze boring into him as he removes first one black leather glove, then the other, smoothing them out before setting them on the vanity table. 

Hubert makes a fist, first cracking one set of knuckles, then the other. "Right," he says, "I'm going to need to brush first."

Ferdinand passes back the brush, and Hubert steps over to his washbasin, wetting it thoroughly before beginning to pass it through the orange strands. 

"It's damp enough for me to cut without wetting it again," Hubert says, focusing on the hair. "I did trim Her Majesty's hair at times during the war. I can make a straight line."

Ferdinand hums in response.

As Hubert gently brushes, he can't help but notice how bedraggled Ferdinand's hair actually is. The split ends and knots are well hidden in the thickness and length of it, but up close are increasingly obvious. 

He sets the brush down on the vanity for a moment, picking through one of the larger knots with his fingers. He glances up to see Ferdinand watching him in the mirror. Ferdinand offers a sheepish smile and a small shrug.

Hubert says nothing. This is one line he won't cross - not now. It brings him back to the moments after they'd kindled their newfound friendship, when he'd been roped into tending the horses with Ferdinand during the war.

He'd looked over at Ferdinand, at the morning sun shining on his orange hair, stroking the neck of a chestnut mare, eyes bright.

Five years ago, he'd have been annoyed - and told him so - at how Ferdinand took so much time to complete the simple task of feeding and brushing the horses, distracted by inane sentimentality. Three years ago, he'd have been annoyed, but done nothing, except roll his eyes as he took more of his fair share of the work. This had been one year ago - and Hubert had just stared, watching as the sun turned brown eyes golden and orange hair into fire. 

He'd only looked away when Ferdinand had caught his eye, and the smile on his face was so open, so disarming, that Hubert felt both trapped in it and unable to look directly at it.

_ No task is too difficult for us, _ Ferdinand had said, raising a triumphant fist in the air, and Hubert had glanced back,  _ Now that we understand and respect each other. _

Hubert wishes he remembered what he'd replied. Knowing how he was, even that short time ago, probably something snarky, a faux-annoyed remark to cover his embarrassment at Ferdinand's utter sincerity.

Now, the embarrassment has stayed, but the quipping remarks have faded into stuttering responses, bare imitations of Ferdinand's open heart. And he can never mock Ferdinand for his hair, not now. Not now that Hubert understands him, and he understands Hubert.

"Hubert?" He's broken out of his reminiscing by Ferdinand's voice. He looks up, and Ferdinand's smiling, a hint of gentle mocking in his voice as he continues, "You've stopped brushing."

Hubert glances down. Seemingly of their own accord, his hands have stopped combing, and instead, one is wrapped around a lock of hair, fist resting against the nape of Ferdinand's neck. The other is braced on his shoulder. 

Hubert takes a breath, removing both hands and picking back up the brush. He mutters an apology, which only makes Ferdinand's smile widen. 

"You know, Hubert," he says. "If you do not wish to assist me, I can always ask Bernadetta, or perhaps Ignatz." 

Hubert trades the brush for the comb, separating Ferdinand's hair into separate sections. Instead of replying, he asks, not looking at Ferdinand, "So what are we thinking of length?" 

"We?" Ferdinand teases, but before Hubert can rebuke, he says, "I must confess I am not sure. I do not believe I want it as short as it was back in the Academy."

Hubert hums.

Ferdinand reaches back, curling a lock of hair behind itself to test different lengths. "Hm," he muses. "Perhaps shoulder length? Long enough to tie back, but still shorter."

"That would look…. Nice," Hubert says, and cringes internally. But Ferdinand beams at him, and so he offers a small, slow smile back. 

"I am glad you think so, Hubert." 

From anyone else, Hubert would perceive the comment as ironic, but he's known Ferdinand long enough to know the man is incapable of sarcasm.

So he smiles at Ferdinand through the mirror, and combs out a small section to begin.

Ferdinand grips the vanity desk as Hubert makes the first cut. Hubert brushes the hair off of Ferdinand's shoulders. "Is that a good length for you?" 

Ferdinand nods, and doesn't speak.

Hubert continues combing and snipping. "You know, Ferdinand," he says, and he won't look at Ferdinand's eyes, he  _ can't _ look at Ferdinand's eyes. "Nobody thinks you are vain." 

Ferdinand snorts. "I can assure you, Hubert, there are many-"

"Nobody who matters." Hubert snips. 

"And do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Matter?" 

"I don't believe you're vain, if that's what you're trying to get me to admit." 

"Ah, Hubert, that sounds dangerously close to a compliment."

"Best not to distract me, von Aegir, while I have scissors so close to that pretty little face of yours." 

"So you think I am pretty?"

Hubert snaps the scissors shut.  _ Fuck _ . "Won't look so pretty if I mess up your hair by your distractions, will you? Now hush."

Ferdinand straightens his shoulders, and Hubert chooses to ignore the very pointed smile he's giving him. Even so, Hubert feels his face heating and has to take two deep breaths to calm himself before continuing.

And, flames, Hubert has never realized before just how thick Ferdinand's hair is. Much thicker than Edelgard's, with whom a trim would take ten minutes. 

But he continues his routine, combing and snipping, and they sit in silence. Ferdinand is watching him, Hubert can feel his gaze, and it makes his hands shake. 

They remain quiet for the next half hour, and Hubert tries to ignore how often Ferdinand opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. He doesn't know if he wants to hear what he's going to say. 

“Pomade?” Hubert stretches out a hand, and Ferdinand scrambles, opening a drawer and passing back a jar of the wax. Hubert draws a bit out, rubbing it between his hands before gently combing his fingers through Ferdinand’s hair, giving it the smooth, shiny look he’s grown so accustomed to seeing.

"There," he says when finally finished, giving Ferdinands shoulders a final brush and pushing away. "I believe you'll find that to be satisfactory." 

He almost instinctively slides the shears into his sleeve before snapping out of it, setting them down on the vanity next to Ferdinand. 

The man in question is still sitting on the stool, moving his head from side to side as he examines his hair. It's simple, a single, straight layer, hovering just beneath his shoulders, but much more even and cleanly cut than it was before. 

Ferdinand turns in his seat, and Hubert catches his breath at the return of that smile. "Hubert, my friend." 

Hubert can feel his face flush, so he breaks eye contact, leaning past Ferdinand to retrieve his gloves and slipping them back on. "Right. In the future, von Aegir, don't question my abilities."

Ferdinand laughs at that. "Oh, Hubert. Rest be assured I will not." He reaches out, and Hubert freezes at the feeling of Ferdinand's hand curling around his wrist. Hubert glances down at him, and Ferdinand's eyes are round and twinkling. Hubert doesn't move, doesn't even breathe, when Ferdinand says, "And thank you, genuinely. I sincerely appreciate what you have done for me, and for your, ah, discretion in the matter."

"Of course," Hubert nods, then takes a deep breath. "It was nothing, Ferdinand. We don't need to speak of it again, if you do not wish to." 

He's expecting Ferdinand to let go, but his grip just tightens. "Hubert, if it is to spare your pride, I will not mention it. But please know I am not ashamed to have had you help me, nor am I ashamed for my tears." 

_ Maybe you should be _ , Hubert's mind supplies.  _ If you wish to appear strong _ . But he swallows that down. "Trust me, von Aegir, it takes much more than assisting a friend with a simple task to wound my pride." 

"A friend?" Ferdinand asks, then makes a humming noise as he releases Hubert's wrist, turning back to the vanity in favor of watching Hubert through the mirror. "I do not believe you have ever called me your friend before, Hubert."

Hubert clenches his jaw. "Yes, well, we are not all as openly sentimental as you."

"Ah, if only I believed that were true." Ferdinand stands, and turns to Hubert. "Now tell me,  _ friend _ , does this look suit me? I say be honest, but I know you are incapable of anything but."

There's hidden meaning in that, but Hubert is much too distracted to know what it is. Ferdinand is watching him, waiting for a response. He fluffs his hair so it falls to the front of his shoulders, and Hubert can't take his eyes off of him. 

He can't say that, though, so instead he says, "You look… acceptable."

Ferdinand gives him a pertinent look, and opens his mouth to respond, but he closes it just as swiftly when Hubert reaches out, gloved hand curling around a lock of hair and tucking it behind Ferdinand's ear. His hand lingers there, fingertips resting in the crook between Ferdinand's jaw and ear. 

With a sharp sigh, Hubert curls his fingers and pulls away, stretching out his hand as he turns. "Well, Ferdinand, if that's all, I must get back to my duties. Good day." His back is to Ferdinand and he's already taken a step towards the door when Ferdinand's hand closes over his wrist again, stopping him in his tracks. 

"Hubert."

Hubert doesn't move, head down, ears ringing. He lets Ferdinand turn him back around, keeping his eyes on the ground. 

"Hubert." The hand that grips his wrist comes up to tilt Hubert's chin up softly, until Hubert sees Ferdinand, sees the blush making his freckles stick out against his cheeks, see the orange hair, still slightly damp, sticking to his neck. 

"Ferdinand," he breathes, and notes how Ferdinand's blush turns a deep crimson at that. 

They stand for a moment, simply gazing at each other, Ferdinand's hand resting on Hubert's chin, Hubert's arms slightly outstretched as if to embrace him. 

"I know you are not one for them," Ferdinand says quietly. "And if you say no, you need not worry about my feelings. But may I embrace you?" 

Hubert's barely started to nod when the hand at his chin and the other at Ferdinand's side wrap around his neck and pull him into a tight hug. Hubert hesitates for just a moment before bending down slightly, arms coming to hold Ferdinand around his waist as he allows his cheek to rest on Ferdinand's shoulder, breathing in the soft scent of chamomile. 

Ferdinand's arms tighten a bit as he takes a step forward, and Hubert is utterly embarrassed at the sigh he releases at the tickle of Ferdinand's nose against his collarbone. 

Ferdinand laughs, and Hubert, startled, jerks away. 

But Ferdinand doesn't relinquish his grip, and Hubert feels much too close to him, standing like this with their chests pressed almost flushed together. He doesn't know where to look, until Ferdinand raises a gentle hand to his cheek, brushing back his bangs with two fingers. 

"You know, Hubert." Ferdinand swallows. "I believe I would quite enjoy kissing you. If you would like." 

Ferdinand must not like the look on Hubert's face at that declaration, as he pauses for a moment before swiftly pulling back, face red. Hubert simply stands there, mind empty, blinking.

"Oh, I apologize." Ferdinand lets out a shaky laugh, turning back to that damned vanity. "I do not think I know quite what came over me, I-" 

Hubert, eyes sharpening, steps forward. Ferdinand lets out a little squeak, turning back to him as Hubert brings his hands up to cup his face, caging Ferdinand against the vanity and leaning down to press his lips to his. 

His mind goes marvelously, blissfully, blank.

Hubert's never been afraid of fire. 

It's been around him often enough on the battlefield, been used by him himself at times during interrogations to intimidate others. It can kill a man, sure, but Hubert's known for a long time that his own death won't be as painless. 

But he finds himself drowning in it, now, as the warmth of Ferdinand envelops him, his arms around Hubert's waist pulling him closer as Hubert moves his hands to the back of his head, mussing up Ferdinand's perfectly acceptable haircut. 

Hubert's utterly embarrassed by the whine Ferdinand pulls from him when he bites his lower lip before pulling away. 

"Hubert, I-" 

"What." Hubert means it to come out as a question, but Ferdinand laughs at the bluntness of it. 

"My, you are something." 

"Is there anything else you would like to say? Or may I get back to enjoying myself?"

Ferdinand laughs again, and Hubert surges forward. He's stopped by a hand on his chest as Ferdinand eyes him, laugh fading into a soft sigh. "Hold on a moment, Hubert, I have some things I have been waiting to say to you." 

Hubert sighs. "Must you be so sentimental."

Ferdinand frowns at him. "Are you not the man who just  _ whined _ from a single kiss?" Hubert opens his mouth to snap back, but Ferdinand presses on. "Now, hush. Allow me a moment to speak, please."

Hubert nods. 

"Right. Now." Ferdinand reaches to grip one of Hubert's hands in his own, bringing the joined hands into the space between them. "Hubert von Vestra," he sighs, and Hubert is wondering just how long this will last before they could get back to much more interesting things. "I am madly in love with you. Horribly so. That is all." 

And Hubert's mind goes blank again, Ferdinand's last words ringing in his mind. "I-" he starts, then just stares at Ferdinand. "Goddess, Ferdinand."

"And if you do not feel the same." Ferdinand's voice rises a few octaves. "I understand and shall never bring up the subject matter again. I simply needed you to know, at least once. But please," and he clutches Hubert's hand tighter, "Please, tell me. I must know." 

"Always so dramatic," Hubert murmurs before catching himself. Ferdinand's face wilts a bit at that, and Hubert would give anything to get that wounded look off of him. "Ferdinand, you fool." 

Ferdinand starts to pull himself from Hubert's grip at those words, and Hubert scrambles. "Wait- Ferdinand. Forgive me." Ferdinand stops. He raises his eyebrows at Hubert to continue.

Hubert takes a breath to prepare himself before saying, "I don't- I'm not sure how to navigate these waters. I feel as though you have me under a spell from which I cannot escape, not that I want to," he adds hurriedly when Ferdinand furrows his brow. "And you're just, everywhere, and everything, and flames, Ferdinand, how could anyone not love you? Least of all me. Least of all anyone. Flames." 

Hubert ducks his head at Ferdinand's smile, suddenly shy, and Ferdinand laughs. "I see. I have rendered the great Hubert von Vestra speechless."

"Speechless?" Hubert sputters, looking back up. He frowns at Ferdinand's smug grin. "I'm never speechless. I sincerely doubt you, Ferdinand von Aegir, have the capabilities to render a man such as me speechless."

Ferdinand's smile widens. "Oh, Hubert. You have not seen the  _ least _ of my capabilities yet."

And finally, finally, Ferdinand kisses him again, and Hubert releases his hand to press his against Ferdinand's cheek, deliberately this time, stroking his thumb against his jawline. 

No, Hubert's never been afraid of fire. Even now, as it consumes him, overwhelming his thoughts in a way that leaves him speechless, he can't feel fear. 

He doesn't know quite how he feels, really, and it's not until Ferdinand pulls away later, burying his head into Hubert's chest and giggling, saying, "I do not believe I have felt this happy in my life," that Hubert remembers the word. 

Happy. 

He feels happy. 

It's strange, but not unwelcome. 

In fact, for once, he embraces it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come talk to me on tumblr [@officialferdinand](officialferdinand.tumblr.com) or twitter [@bizzybee429](https://twitter.com/bizzybee429).


End file.
